


make up in love what i lack

by haipollai



Category: Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Memories, Post-Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 11:04:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1508201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haipollai/pseuds/haipollai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Bucky," Steve sighs, pressing his face into his side. He wishes he was small, when Bucky's arms could encircle him. It was easier to pretend he was safe. "You real?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	make up in love what i lack

Steve looks at the man on his couch, half asleep with the TV on low. Quiet so it doesn't drown out background noise, so no one can sneak up on him.

"You could use the bed," he murmurs, half asleep himself and thinking about taking his own advice.

"No TV in there. Also bad line of sight." He pulls his knees up to his chest so there's room at the end of the couch for Steve, but Steve ends up sprawling over Bucky anyway. It must be uncomfortable, especially when he hooks an arm around Steve's neck just to hold him loosely but he doesn't complain.

"Bucky," Steve sighs, pressing his face into his side. He wishes he was small, when Bucky's arms could encircle him. It was easier to pretend he was safe with Bucky's arms around him, helping to hold him together. "You real?"

Bucky laughs softly and his arm tightens, pressing Steve tighter to his side. "Pretty sure."

Usually it's enough to satisfy but maybe it's his exhaustion, eating at him, making him feel disconnected. Like this is nothing but a dream, and he's terrified of faking up but he can't live in dreams. He pushes himself up on his hands and nudges Bucky onto his back. There's a moment of resistance but then Bucky goes loose, let's Steve arrange him, one leg over the back of the couch, the other of the side.

"Steve." His voice catches but he doesn't do anything to stop him. Even when Steve's hand goes to his pants zipper. His cock is still soft when Steve pulls it out but it only takes a few strokes to rouse interest. He ducks his head and swallows, and above him Bucky makes a noise as he's being choked. Desperate and surprised and Steve sucks to draw the noise out of him again.

He rests his hands on Bucky's hips, not so much to hold but just to keep him still. There are still small jerks up into Steve's mouth, matching the bob of his head but overall he obeys the silent request, letting Steve have control. He moves up and down, Bucky's erection growing harder against his tongue. 

Steve remembers his first time, kneeling between Bucky's thighs, Bucky torn between want and nerves. Bucky's fingers, thin and fragile like Steve's back then, digging into the edge of the mattress.

Steve remembers his cheeks flushed in shame and lust because it's one thing to use a man, but it's another to be the one who lets himself be treated like a woman but he remembers want. The sounds Bucky made back then and the one he makes now, all desperate. Steve always felt in control with Bucky (there were others who grabbed and forced but never Bucky).

He sucks harder, cheeks hollowing out and Bucky groans low in the back of his throat. It's a sound that Steve's never quite remembered right though he always wants to. He uses his tongue to tease and push to draw it from Bucky again and again until he's arching up, body thrumming but holding back.

Steve slides his hand up Bucky's stomach, feeling the tremor of his muscles. 

He pulls back, runs his tongue along the shaft, just to taste.

" _Steve_." His voice is raw with need, barely held back. Bucky once could give Steve a run for his money on creaky hotel beds in London, but his nerves are shot and his memory is a wreck and his stamina has been lost after years of disuse. Steve doesn't mind, it's still Bucky.

"Ok," he breathes and takes his cock back into his mouth. Bucky almost sighs in relief as he comes. Steve keeps his mouth on him, easing him through it, until he's softening again and the tension in his body is gone.

Steve  lets him go, running his palms over Bucky's thighs, his stomach and chest, pressing kisses to his hips and navel and throat.

"Ok," Bucky echoes, eyes closed, limbs still where Steve left them. His hands drift down Steve's sides. Metal and flesh and the difference from Steve's own memories, even the ones cracked and faded like an old photograph, tells him this is real. "Steve?" And this time it is a question.

"No. Later."

Bucky's eyes crack open, testing the truth of that and whatever he sees in Steve's face convinces him because they close again. Steve pillows his head on Bucky's stomach focus on Bucky and everything familiar and everything different and everything Bucky.

A flesh and blood hand scratches at Steve's scalp, not intrusive, just to touch. Steve thinks he tends to use the flesh and blood hand when he wants to just feel things.

There are calluses from knives and guns all crisscrossed with scars. Steve only knows some stories of how he got them, he doesn't know if even all of them are true but they're Bucky's stories and that's enough.

Steve can still taste Bucky on his lips and he lets it linger.

He's real.

The TV still drones on in the background, comforting noise to balance out the chaos in his head.

He remembers when their background noise was the city outside thin walls, and they would sit in silence and let the rest wash over them. "Hey, Steve?"

"Mhm."

"Can later be now?"

"You're gonna fall asleep on me."

"Yea maybe." He smiles and that Steve can never forget, the way he smiles when almost asleep and for once he's not worried. There was always worry, always fear. Of money and sickness, of being caught, of death and pain. For a moment, there is only Bucky and Steve and the soft drone of white noise masking all the rest.

Steve sucks on his lower lip, thinking he can still taste him.

Bucky's hand tightens in his hair and almost gently pulls him up.

"Right here," he whispers against Steve's lips. There's a scar there now that Steve flicks his tongue against. He thinks he might have given it to Bucky but Bucky never says and he never asks. It's a difference that means this is real.

He repeats it like a mantra on the days he feels like he's an inch above the ground and an inch to the left and nothing fits right. The days when his perfect, serum-enhanced memory is overwhelmed by datadatadata and he cannot focus on his own memories.

The taste of Bucky on his lips, and the metal arm on his skin. This is real because he would never come up with this, so it must be.

"Later can be now," he murmurs, finally pulling himself off of Bucky and leading them both into the bedroom.


End file.
